efflorescence
by hiroomi
Summary: Mikasa wonders when he's started noticing the flecks of blue in Eren's eyes, the little scar that runs from her wrist to the space between her thumb and forefinger, the curve of her lips and the tiny dimple on her right cheek when she smiles, the nape of her neck that remains tantalizingly bare when she brushes her hair to the side. - genderbent au, through-the-years; eremika.


**notes:**  
also posted on my tumblr, _heichews_!  
and my ao3, _ryugazaki._  
genderbent modern-day au. through-the-years type au.  
male!mikasa x fem! eren.  
may or may not contain self-indulgent fluff and cheese / oocness.

* * *

**.**

_efflorescence_  
(**n; **a gradual process of unfolding or developing.)

**.**

* * *

Armin tells Eren that she's too passionate; that she gets too wrapped up into things that do not concern her. Eren huffs. She's eleven and honestly believes she's the ruler of everything (especially Jean, that little shit, she'd taught him a lesson). And she tells herself that she could care less about Armin's advice (she takes this back, yes, yes she _does _care).

Armin is her only friend, the only one who is brave enough to penetrate her little cloaks of anger and furrowed eyebrows and gnashed teeth. He is as calm and kind and rational as Eren is passionate and explosive and wild.

While Eren is left in the corner with her savagely bright green eyes and skinned knees and clenched fists, Armin is well-liked by most of the other children. He's kind and caring and _smart, _oh so smart (Armin tutored her once, she was the jealousy of the entire fifth grade).

And Eren asks, "Why don't I have any friends?" She barely thinks before asking a question, never thinks before opening her mouth. Armin thinks that Eren isa mouth and just that, flapping lips and tongue and teeth with no brain.

It's not that Eren isn't smart, it's entirely the opposite-her emotions take over what little self control she does have.

"Because," he says quietly, searching for a word, because one slip up sends Eren huffing away with little spots of tears in the corners of her eyes, "your attitude."

It isn't that he doesn't _love _Eren as his best friend-it's the exact opposite, but lying to her will solve nothing.

Eren rolls her eyes so hard Armin fears they're going to rattle in the back of her head. "Dad says that," she tells him indignantly; accusingly. "And what's wrong with my attitude?"

It's not that Eren isn't smart, it's that she's incredibly _dense. _

"You're angry all the time," offers Armin and winces when Eren's eyes widen just a little. Her mouth opens just a little (like a fish) and she searches for words before snapping it shut again. Her eyes are accusing again, hurt.

And, finally: "You're right." She does huff, but she doesn't point and glare at him, only quietly stares at the tops of her scuffed sneakers.

"You could always make more friends." Armin is feeling a little guilty and a bit sad, because the only thing stronger in Eren's eyes than her passion is her loneliness.

"How?"-she glances up, quick as lightning, eyes as vibrant as ever-"Everybody here already thinks I'm _obnoxious _and loud and they already know who I am!"

He doesn't point out that she's said _obnoxious _wrong, that she says it like _obnooxious_, stretches the sound out so far he fears it'll snap. He doesn't point out that they're wrong (because they aren't, not really). Eren is obnoxious at times (passion, he thinks), loud, but her heart is in the right place, her spirit is louder than her voice. Her heart is so _strong _that it wills her eyes and her fists and her voice, her voice.

Her voice shakes Armin out of his thoughts. "What about the new boy?" she offers gruffly, crossing her arms. He sees a pink spot on her arm where she's picked off (yet another) scab.

Armin opens his mouth to answer her when there is a loud, explosive burst of laughter. Eren jumps from her seat, knees already bent, fists already clenched together.

The class clowns are whispering to themselves. Armin is as disgusted with them as Eren hates them; he hates how they think they are so _strong _with their fists but shiver when he spits words at them that they cannot deny.

They are eyeing the new boy. Armin's stomach drops. "Don't, Eren," he warns, reaching over to grab her and pull her back and maybe she won't let her emotions take reign this time, maybe-

She wrenches her arm away forcefully, gnashing her teeth. Her eyebrows have become a single caterpillar again-fists clenched tight enough to leave angry crescents on her palms. She stomps towards them, a flurry of movement and anger and rage.

And she stops, freezes in place with her fists still shaking and Armin thinks the hatred is practically radiating off her body.

They're picking on the new boy and Eren absolutely _despises _them. The new boy has done nothing but sit quietly in the corner and read, and Eren marvels at his long, pale fingers. He's pretty, she thinks, very pretty with long dark lashes soft against his cheeks.

One of the bullies poke the boy hard in the shoulder. "Why don't you talk?" And the idiot guffaws, throws his head back like it's the funniest thing anyone's said in a while.

Eren grits her teeth and marches up to them, hair tousled, buns messy, eyes fiercer and determined than Armin's ever seen them before.

She punches one of the bullies in the arm, punches him good and hard. The bully pulls his arm back from the boy, shakes it out, gives Eren a shocked look that makes her smile.

"Leave him alone!" she snarls (it's a sound she's heard the dog do before and it seemed to have frightened the cat so she tries it out) and the boy blinks, rises from his chair and sweeps his gaze over them. "What's he ever done to you?"

The bully regains his composure and sneers. Eren counts the spaces in his smile.

"What about you, Jaeger?"-and he's at least five inches taller than her-"What have we ever done to you?"

She's grown tired of that sneer.

Eren draws her arm back and punches him square in the jaw, letting out a grunt of effort. He stumbles backwards, raises his hand to gingerly rub where her fist impacted his face.

The boy is awestruck as Eren's lips pull back into a smile and her gaze hardens. "Say it again," she says, and her voice is raising in volume, people are staring, the other bullies are rolling up their sleeves-"I _dare you._" Her eyes glitter. Eren feasts on this, insists that it was always worth it even though she sports bruises the size of the palm of her hand.

And then she sees them rushing towards her, and she's ready to punch someone or kick someone or bash their teeth in her with head when-

There is a _whoosh, _a quick whistle of air, sudden stillness in between the chaos and grace when the boy leaps over the table and swings his legs, moves his body in a fluid death dance. Both of the boys topple to the ground like dominoes and then the mystery boy is standing over them, grinding his heel into the chest of the main bully.

His eyes glitter; not with pride, not with satisfaction, but with curiosity. Eren thinks that he looks like grace itself.

He turns and offers Eren an inquisitive gaze. She tries not to gawk.

"We're-"-the bully is struggling, and the boy adds more pressure-"going to get you back!"

His eyes glitter again as he tilts his head to the side like a puppy and she wonders if they're black or grey or even cobalt blue, mysterious and elusive.

"I wonder," he presses again, "how can a corpse speak?"

The boy beneath his foot yelps, all color fading instantly from his face. "I-" and then the boy draws his leg back in a sharp, swift movement and the boys are hurrying away and the air smells like sweat and fear-

The silence envelops them both. Eren is in shock; either of the boy or the events or the bullies are all three mashed together.

He turns to her. "I could have taken care of it myself," he says quietly, and he sounds distant and sad and lonely and it's something Eren hears in her own voice sometimes. "They weren't really bothering me."

Pale hands reach for his shirt and he nestles his face into his collar so that she can only see his eyes, the bridge of his nose, the gentle slant of his cheekbones.

"I know," she says, and she does.

She knows that she wanted to protect him-wanted to protect _somebody, _because Eren is a bottle of emotions that worm their way into words and actions she doesn't mean, because she doesn't mean to be annoying and obnoxious and loud and she sees _herself _in him, somewhere.

He shivers, and she wonders if he's cold, thinks about the scarf back at home that he could use, thinks about how red would look good against the black ink of his hair and the dark of his eyes and the pale of his skin-

"My name is Eren," she says finally, and sticks her hand out. He traces his finger over the crescent marks before shaking it. He holds her hand longer than necessary and his skin is surprisingly warm (she's honestly not sure why she's surprised at that). Eren realizes she expected him to be cold, like ice.

"Mikasa," he says at last, and she swears he is smiling beneath the protection of his shirt.

* * *

**.**

* * *

Mikasa is reading his book, nestled into the corner of the room when Eren approaches him. Armin is next to him, stretching his hand out shyly, giving a soft smile that Mikasa almost returns. Armin's smile is contagious.

"I'm Armin," the blond says cheerfully, and his hands are soft, not calloused and scarred like Eren's.

"Mikasa," he says, and he offers Armin a genuine, albeit tiny smile.

Armin's eyes flitter to the book. His entire face lights up and he grins.

"Are you reading that book?" He settles into the seat next to Mikasa, leans over to look at the pages and Eren almost huffs again-she never reads books by herself, only "reads" when Armin will read them to her. "It's one of my favorites!"

Eren has her hands stuffed into her pocket, buns messy as always. She lets out a yawn that makes Armin roll his eyes and she pulls her hands out.

"Ta-da," she says triumphantly, and there is a scarf hanging from her fingers. Mikasa looks from the scarf to her, almost as if he's memorizing every detail threaded in. "It's for you." Hastily, she adds, "You looked cold."

Almost self-consciously, Mikasa shoves his hands into his jean pockets. Eren steps forward and wraps the scarf around him haphazardly, makes it cover his mouth and his nose and because it's too long, she flops it over the top of his head.

"I wanted to protect you," she blurts out, and almost blushes when Mikasa's serious gaze meets hers.

"It's warm," he says, and the scarf smells of _home_-something unfamiliar and elusive to him. It smells of cinnamon and apple, of gentle hands threading it together and-

Her smile grows wider. "I know."

And she does.

* * *

**.**

* * *

She draws her hand back and punches the wall, punches it hard enough to skin her knuckles and make them bleed-

Except she doesn't exactly punch the wall, because Mikasa grabs her wrist before her knuckles impact the stone. His hands are warm, as always, and his gaze is serious as he peers at her from the protection of the scarf. His eyes voice his disapproval.

"That _bastard_!" she exclaims, and wrenches her arm out of Mikasa's. "He copied Armin's presentation! You saw it, didn't you?"

Eren's sense of justice is strong enough to rival her stubbornness. Mikasa is glad she doesn't want to punch the wall anymore, because she's animated, making wild hand gestures and her eyes bright, always so bright. He thinks they look two Caribbean jewels set into the tan stone of her face.

"That's unfair!"-she rattles on, she always does, and he always listens, always admires everything about her-"They can't _do that_!"

She sighs exasperatedly, flops to the ground and draws her knees to her chest. "They _can't._ It's-"-she looks for a word strong enough to convey her feelings-"-unjust! Wrong! Cheating! Filthy!"

She kicks at bits of rock and gravel and they bounce off of the faded tops of Mikasa's red Converse. "Unfair," she echoes.

Mikasa sits next to her. He smells like rain to her, rain and wilderness and in between, the crispness of autumn. He smells wild to her and it's fascinated because she's known this ever since she's met him, and it never fails to make her gasp a little each time.

"It is," he agrees quietly, and just because he isn't yelling and punching walls doesn't mean he isn't as angry as Eren is. "But what are we going to do about it?" He lets out a long, drawn-out sigh and Eren throws her arm over his shoulder. She's glad that they're both still the same height, that he hasn't outgrown her even though it's been three years, even though they're both fourteen.

(Never mind the fact that boys supposedly have their growth spurts later than girls.)

"Punch them," she says darkly, and Mikasa has to laugh a little at the seriousness in her voice.

"We can't do that," he says sternly, warningly, "we'll get in trouble. And that won't solve anything."

Mikasa is as rational as Eren is not.

"Well, who cares?" She sounds irritable, annoyed, and he is a little afraid she'll spring from the ground and go bounding to wherever the assholes are.

They couldn't come up with their own project and had copied Armin's (who was in the back, he'd left it inside during lunch), passed it off of their own and Armin had been suspended for plagiarism.

Mikasa pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. Truly, the teachers were at fault too-didn't they know those boys weren't even near capable of what Armin was? Didn't they know Armin _never _copied? Didn't they know _anything? _

"You'll just get in more trouble,"-he reasons with her, makes her sigh because Mikasa is _always _reasoning with her and Mikasa is _always _right-"and that will make Armin upset."

Eren shuts her mouth, presses her face into her knees and lets out a little angry yell. Drawing her arm back from Mikasa's shoulders, she says, "It isn't."

The last word doesn't need to be said: _fair. _

Mikasa thinks quietly to himself that he'll talk to the teachers, he'll bring them the proof, because they'll sooner believe the quiet boy who does all his work than the rash girl who comes into all of their classes yelling.

"This world is cruel, Eren," he says quietly, and thinks of mothers claimed by disease and fathers who die in car accidents with their bodies crushed together, thinks of little boys who are sent to orphanage after orphanage after orphanage-

And he thinks of little girls with messy brown hair and bright green eyes, thinks of little girls draping scarves over him; little girls who know more about him than he'll ever know about himself.

He nestles his face into his scarf, reaches for Eren's hand and snakes his into hers. "But also quite beautiful."

He sees the way the anger quite literally melts off of her, how her shoulders relax and the tension slowly, but surely, reduces to nothing.

Eren doesn't say anything. She doesn't need to.

And Mikasa thinks he likes these moments the most, decides that he likes that their most important conversations are spoken with no words. The quiet understanding between them is as visible as the way he holds her hand.

* * *

**.**

* * *

Eren doesn't know when she's begun to just _stare _at Mikasa, when the thought of them nestled on the porch swing makes her heart do little back flips in her chest.

She doesn't know when she's begun to blush furiously at the rumors, doesn't know when she's begun to wonder if Mikasa's lips (_yes, _his _lips_, she's officially sunk to a new level) are as soft as they look, doesn't know where eleven-year old fascination has evolved into fourteen-year old friendship and that has evolved into something (she hopes) that is too deep and too strong to label as _just _normal friendship.

She still thinks about his lips, though.

* * *

**.**

* * *

He likes the moments when they're all together, too. By far, they are his most treasured memories. They crowd into Eren's porch swing, laughing as it rocks gently.

Armin is squished in the middle, laughing, yelling about how they're going to wrinkle the pages of his book and Eren yanks it from him, shoves it under the swing and tickles Armin relentlessly, doesn't stop even when he weakly tries to push her hands away (he's laughing too hard at this point to even move.)

Letting out a high-pitched shriek, he finally manages to scrambles off and he shoves Mikasa into the middle. They break into bouts of laughter and Mikasa laughs so hard his stomach begins to hurt.

And there is a happiness between them, a strong sense of _belonging _as they nestle together, nearly falling asleep when the sun goes down and paints the sky with hues of red and pink and orange.

* * *

**.**

* * *

Mikasa thinks they're the closest to a family he's ever had, Eren and Armin. They're an unlikely group-the manipulative genius, the rash, loud girl and the quiet, graceful boy. But he decides that he _likes _their group, likes the way they click together.

And he doesn't want to think about what will happen when Eren gets older, when she starts seeing Jean as more than the asshole who laughed at her in third grade and is still trying to get her attention. He doesn't want to think about when Armin will start talking with people who share more common interests with him. He doesn't want to think about when they'll branch out, when their little group will split farther and farther apart.

He knows he's being selfish, but it's something he can't help-he likes their group the way it is, and a voice whispers in the back of his mind that Eren and Armin do, too.

* * *

**.**

* * *

There isn't ever a day when Eren fails to rant about Jean, after all, she's done it every day for the past four years.

Even at fifteen she _always _has something to say about him ("Jean looked at me funny today, I think he was laughing with his friends at me, he's such a jerk" or "Jean smells like a horse, he's so annoying" or even "I really hate Jean Kirschtein") and Mikasa and Armin always listen.

Armin laughs, finds it amusing, says Eren talks more about Jean than anyone else. And Mikasa doesn't know why, but this _bothers _him a little, it bothers him that so much of Eren's heart and mind is dedicated to an irritating asshole she claims to hate.

Mikasa himself has no problem with Jean _or _Eren, just Jean _and_ Eren.

Eren says, "Guess what Jean did today?"

And Armin rolls his eyes, tries not to seem interested even though every day he listens faithfully to the Eren vs. Jean chronicles. "What _hasn't_ Jean done?"

She grumbles a little at that. "Too true," she sighs a little, unties her buns before tying it back just as quickly, and Mikasa realizes he hasn't seen her with them down, "too true." She pauses for a moment, as if regaining her anger.

Mikasa wonders when he's started noticing the flecks of blue in Eren's eyes, the little scar that runs from her wrist to the space between her thumb and forefinger, the curve of her lips and the tiny dimple on her right cheek when she smiles, the nape of her neck that remains tantalizingly _bare _when she brushes her hair to the side.

Her nostrils flare. "He laughed at me today," and she gives Armin a look to let him know that _yes, _she's aware Jean laughs at her _every _day, "I said something and he laughed, cracked up like it was the funniest thing." She pauses for breath, chest heaving. "And then he closed his eyes and _smirked, _like he _knew _he was getting on my nerves."

Slowly, Armin says, "Eren, what did you say?" Mikasa wishes Armin hadn't said that, wished they'd laughed about it and then buried Jean Kirschtein as a conversation topic.

She wipes at the invisible hairs on her shirt. "A joke," she furrows her brow, "I was talking to Marco, and I told him a joke. And then _Jean_-"

Armin snorts, and when Eren fixes him with a pointed glare, he bursts into laughter, shaking so hard the swing rocks. In between breaths, he manages to gasp, "Eren, he was laughing at your joke. He thought you were _funny_ and not in that mean Jean Kirschtein way."

Her face goes red and Mikasa feels his heart clench when he realizes it's not from anger or yelling. "Oh," she says quietly, turns away and he can see blush creeping up her neck to her cheeks, "oh."

And Mikasa wonders if anything he's ever done makes her blush like that, wonders if she thinks about him as much as she thinks about Jean.

* * *

**.**

* * *

Eren slams her locker shut, tugs at the hem of her shorts. "They're _uncomfortable,_" she whines, and Mikasa shakes his head. She pouts a little.

"Then change them," he laughs, tightens his scarf even though it's nearly summer. "It's not like anybody _forced _you to wear them."

She pauses for a moment, "But I didn't bring any extra clothes." She tugs at them again, pulls them down and shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot. Other students flood past them, and Mikasa whips his head around to meet Jean's eyes.

Jean is standing at the edge of the corridor and his eyes widen a little when he sees Mikasa staring back at him. Mikasa doesn't miss the way Jean's eyes trail up and down Eren's tanned legs and the gentle curve of her waist and hips (since when had those gotten there, anyway?). He doesn't look away so Jean does, embarrassedly shuffling down the hallway.

When he turns around Eren is stuffing books into her bag. She looks up to meet his gaze and her mouth opens slightly when she sees the seriousness in his gaze.

"I don't like the way Jean looks at you," he says seriously, quietly, _softly_, and tugs at the bottom of his scarf like he always does when he's nervous.

"Like he's about to beat me up?" She rolls her eyes, slings her bag over her shoulder. "Don't worry, Mikasa, I can take care of myself."

He looks even more troubled now and Eren bites her lip. "It's not that," he says finally, takes a step closer to Eren and she can smell that wild, autumn scent on him. "Don't tell me you don't notice?"

She chews on her bottom lip and looks away, letting out a little sigh. She pretends she doesn't notice the way Jean laughs when she punches him gently in the arm (it's long since evolved from the mocking, cocky laughter he used to have), doesn't notice the way he's vying for her attention, doesn't notice how Jean is quick to look away when their eyes meet.

"Jean is Jean," she says at last, and her eyes plead with Mikasa. "So can we please go home now?"

He nestles his face into his scarf, shoves his hangs into his pockets. "He..." Mikasa trails off, realizes that he doesn't _know _how to put this shallow jealousy into words.

Then, bluntly: "He likes you."

She sighs, pushes at the bangs that are beginning to fall in her eyes. "I know," her voice is soft as she turns away.

He grabs Eren's hand, just as he's done many times before, except it's not the same this time, his skin is hotter, there's an intensity in his gaze that she knows she can't ignore. He pulls his hand away quickly, realizing what he's just done. He wrings his hand as if her skin has burned him.

"Do you like him?"-he regrets the words the minute the leave his lips-"I mean, you talk about him all the time, so-"

He's always so quick to assume, assumes he knows _everything _about her feelings when really he knows nothing-does he really not notice the way she stares at him? Is he that ignorant when it comes to himself? Are her feelings that confusing? Is she the only one over-thinking things?

Eren's fists clench together and she whirls around, takes a step that forces him to step back. "And what if I do?" she snaps, and Mikasa looks like he's been struck, the shock apparent in his eyes, "You don't own me or my emotions!"

Then the shock fades, he's putting his hands in his pockets again and turning away, and Eren wants to reach out and grab his hand and say _I don't, I don't, I was upset, please don't -_

"That's right," are his last words before he walks out without her, and the unsaid words hang in the air, their weight heavy enough to crush her chest and knock the air out of her lungs.

* * *

**.**

* * *

Mikasa doesn't know what bothers him more, the fact that Eren might like Jean or the fact that Eren might not like _him_ anymore.

_Stupid, _he thinks to himself, _stupid, stupid stupid_. He should have never said anything, should have let it slide, so what if Eren did like Jean, even if they had gotten together they would still be a family, a tight cluster of friends, the same as before.

But he _did _say something, he _did _ruin something, he _did _screw everything up and now Eren was probably furious at him, now things wouldn't ever be the way they were before. Perhaps he was selfish for even thinking (no, _hop_ing) that Eren would laugh and brush it aside and say Jean was irrelevant (in comparison to Mikasa and Armin).

He doesn't want to think that he's a _burden _to Eren, that she doesn't need a weird, silent boy following her around everywhere like a guard dog. He doesn't want to think that this is where the road splits, where their friendship finally crumbles.

(Because of him.)

But what bothers him even more, what frustrates and hurts and infuriates him beyond compare is the nagging thought that Eren might not think about him half as much as he thinks about her.

* * *

**.**

* * *

Eren is still awake when she hears three loud, sharp knocks on her door at four in the morning. She jumps out of bed, wipes at her face and rubs her eyes, wonders if they're still puffy.

She pads silently down the stairs, careful not to wake her mother and father (who both sleep like logs, either way) across the hall. Taking a deep breath, she swings the door open, and Mikasa's eyes widen slightly when he sees she's been awake.

She hasn't changed out of her clothes since she got home, and he wonders if she just went to her bed and _thought _like he did.

The red of his scarf looks even more vibrant against his face when they're both gently washed with moonlight, and Eren walks, barefoot, onto the porch.

They don't even say anything, just sit quietly on the swing and Eren is leaning against Mikasa, her face nestled into his shoulder. She closes her eyes and it's never left, the connection, the bond.

He thinks she looks prettiest like this, almost exactly as she did four years ago. The moonlight frames them with a faint light that almost makes her skin glow. He runs his fingers casually through her shaggy, thick hair and it takes a moment for him to realize that her hair isn't in its usual buns. It's soft to the touch and slowly, he pulls his fingers away.

He opens his mouth. "I wanted to apologi-"

"Sorry," she interrupts, and he realizes her voice isn't muffled because she's leaning against him but because she's chewing on her lip, trying desperately not to cry, "I'm sorry." There's a shaky, deep breath. "I didn't mean to snap at you."

He shifts, throws his arm around her shoulder awkwardly so that he's holding her, so that she's leaning against his chest. _It's fine, Eren_-the words are unsaid but loud and clear nonetheless.

She straightens, looks at Mikasa, memorizes the barely noticeable scar on the slant of his high cheekbones, his eyes that have always reminded her of the ocean at night and blue-black skies, memorizes the ink-black bangs that fall just across his face.

They are close, close enough that she can hear his breathing, soft and steady. It almost hitches when she reaches out, brushes his bangs out of his face.

And _hell, _she's always been the reckless one, so she reasons she has nothing to lose by being reckless now.

So she grabs Mikasa by his scarf and pulls him close, kisses him full on the lips (which yes, are as soft as they look) and lets out a little squeak of surprise when he kisses her back, when his fingers run through her hair again.

They pull away and she just leans against him, holds his hand like she's done so many times before.

And Mikasa thinks, _yes, _he _definitely _likes these moments the most.

"Mikasa?" she says finally, and there is a soft sleepiness in her voice that makes him chuckle. "Are you still awake?"

He hums in acknowledgement, squeezes her hand tighter.

"Jean's an asshole. A fun-to-be-around asshole, but I don't like him." Her speech slurs slightly and she blinks slowly, nestles closer to him.

"I know, Eren, I know."

And he does. He always does.


End file.
